Serial
by garnetcloak
Summary: A perspective of a killer, more specifically R-D. It's... What she thinks, takes place in the last episode.
1. Ellen Weight

Serial  
  
By garnetcloak  
  
  
  
Author's Note: I in no way claim to own any of the Big-O characters. I never have, I never will. They belong to their respected and worshipped creators. Don't sue me please, I don't have too much too offer, although I'm sure my parents would be more than happy to put me into slave labor.  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
"He not busy being born is busy dying." –Bob Dylan  
  
  
  
These orders have rung through me ears since I have existed. These thoughts have raced through my mind. These emotions have pulsated through my veins. One simple phrase: Those who remember must perish.  
  
  
  
I stalk stealthily through the street to my destination; The Nightingale. I creep around the side of the nightclub and pull my red cape closer to me. I sashay up the stairs and open the door. I hurry silently into the nightclub. The pleasant tones of the piano's melodies and harmonies, white keys and black keys rush over me. My ears have already learned to distinguish the notes. I am in the dressing room wing. I see Ellen Weight's room at the end of the hallway. She's on the list. A voice catches my ear. There are two women having a conversation inside one of the rooms.  
  
"Mike's proposed to Ellen tonight. They're engaged!" One woman says.  
  
"When's the wedding? She has to invite all us girls to come; we'll be dying to see those two finally settle down. Does this mean she'll be quitting the business?" The second says.  
  
"Yes, it wouldn't be appropriate if Mike, an owner of a big company like that, had a showgirl for a wife."  
  
I listen to them for a moment longer. Ellen Weight's been remembering things. That's why I'm here. I walk quietly down the hallway to Ellen's Room. I open the door. She's not in here. I walk up to her vanity. I pick up a rube of blood red lipstick, the color of my cloak, and turn it up a bit. I write on the mirror in simple capital letters "CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD, YE NOT GUILTY", as I have been instructed to do by Alex Rosewater. I roll the lipstick back down and place the tube in my pocket. I hear the handle of the door turning. I jump into a closet. Ellen stumbles into the room in a drunken state. She collapses into her stool backwards. I pull my gun out of the basket. The click is heard; I step from the closet and shoot her straight in the heart. I dash out the door and hurry down the steps. A scream is heard from inside the nightingale and I hurry across the street through the rain. The lipstick and the gun are in my basket. The thoughts race through my mind, more intense than before: those who remember must perish. Those who remember must perish. One down. Four to go.  
  
  
  
Author's End note: I promise more logic and thoughts of a killer in later chapters. 


	2. Mathew Brown

Serial  
  
By garnetcloak  
  
  
  
I sit back gently in the leather office chair. I'm sitting in Alex Rosewater's office. A "Miss Angel" stands next to him. I examine both of them. She reminds me of a character from a fairytale that is sometimes told to young children: she reminds me of Tinkerbelle. I hated that stupid pixie. I examine Rosewater now. Stereotypical pinstripe suit, slicked back hair, and broad shoulders. Corporate slime. They ordered me to be created. They ordered me to kill the ones who remembered. I take a long puff of my cigarette and watch them.  
  
"How far have you gotten?" Rosewater asks.  
  
"Ellen Weight is dead." I reply coldly, my voice scrambling devices active.  
  
"Good... Now get on Mathew Brown."  
  
I stand up, blow the smoke out and put the cigarette in an ashtray nearby. I turn my head in their direction. I remain silent. There's an awkward moment between the three of us while I watch them. I think it makes them nervous. I snicker a bit. I find it funny that they fear their own creation. It would be as if a mother and father feared their child. I laugh harder and louder. I turn, and with a swish of my cloak I'm out the door. I pause for a moment outside to listen to them.  
  
"Do you think it's wise to have created it?" Angel asks.  
  
"Oh, I think it'll serve us well. Once the victims are finished, it's just a simple switch of a switch and it'll be back on her way to the recycled metal pile." Rosewater replies. To them I am only an "it". I'm only a pawn in their game. I already know it, and have known it. Oh... But how wrong they have it. Once their list is done, then I'll start mine. And they're at the top of it. Especially Tinkerbelle. I walk to the elevator silently and take it down to the first floor. I walk out the door and hurry back into the rain. I hurry along a few more roads, headed towards the East Domes. Oh, but I'm not going inside the Domes. My victim is on the streets. I look up. Red light. Stopped car. It's the same license plate. I turn around the corner of the car, hold my gun to Mr. Mathew's head, engage it, and fire it. I look into his car. There's a letter for him sitting on the seat beside him. I read the letter without opening it. Mr. Mathew was just accepted at the college of his choice. Oh well, work is as work does. I look at the smashed and shattered window. I pull out the red lipstick and write the same famous words "CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD, YE NOT GUILTY." I examine the scene, as the car's horn blares loud and clear. I finish, smile at the work I have finished and hurry across the street and into the shadows. Shadows to hide my identity. Shadows to hide my true motives. Shadows to hide me.  
  
  
  
Authors note: okay, not much yet, it's coming though. I don't own any of the characters they belong to their respected owners. 


End file.
